


fake people showing (fake) love

by mcgreys



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Jealous Miya Atsumu, M/M, Miya Atsumu is a Little Shit, POV Miya Atsumu, Pining Miya Atsumu
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:35:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25184137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mcgreys/pseuds/mcgreys
Summary: “Okay, I’m not exactly asking you two to fake date, just project—like a romantic illusion?”“That IS fake dating.” Sakusa deadpans in extreme pillar fashion.“Fine, then fake date please. We can’t win this league season if someone strangles Miya from unrequited love.”In which a rabid fan's break and entry into Atsumu's apartment leads to the proposal of a temporary relocation, and a fake interim boyfriend (hopefully to become permanent and real).
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 23
Kudos: 254





	fake people showing (fake) love

**Author's Note:**

> title from drake's fake love
> 
> fake dating! (don't worry, atsumu's at the very least, subconsciously aware that he likes sakusa, no dramatic running back to hyogo and crying at osamu)

Atsumu could not in good conscience say that he was a fan of people who didn’t play volleyball, or perhaps it would be more precise to say that he just does not notice non-volleyball playing folks. So it shouldn’t be surprising, despite the consternation of his mother and brother, that he has always been single, since the day Osamu beat him by leaving the womb five minutes earlier. 

But, what is there to brag about? Five minutes is only three hundred seconds long, and five years of dating Suna does not automatically equate to fifty years of happy marriage. Though, if Atsumu had to be honest with himself, with the way that Osamu and Suna were willing to alternately traverse prefectures weekly just to spend hours with each other—a functional and long-lasting marriage does not seem to be entirely unattainable. Atsumu felt personally insulted when Osamu actually tried to deny that he opened a new branch in Tokyo for the sake of seeing and feeding Suna more often.

Atsumu cannot be fooled, because he has exclusive telepathic channels to Osamu’s rice-filled brain, plus Osamu has been so helplessly drowning in Love River that he stress makes hundreds of onigiris when he hasn’t seen Suna in more than two weeks. 

Osamu has always been known as the more rational and quiet twin, but weak-willed is what he is now. 

In Atsumu’s spherical, yellow and blue heart, he knows that he’s objectively the more successful twin. He’s been a professional volleyball player since he graduated high school, for seven years—not nearly a veteran yet, but definitely no longer a green rookie. Subjectively, or according to his mother, he’s the inferior twin. Not because Osamu is an entrepreneur—because if making onigiris were avant-garde, then Atsumu’s innovative third, and (in the making) fourth serve has to be more entrepreneurial. But because, his twin was closer to securing a life long partner, and thereby expanding their family to an impressive number of five, with a new son-in-law. 

No, his mother would not let him forget, that no matter how many records he breaks, he would still lose to Osamu when they’re on their death beds, because he was _lonely_. 

Atsumu had tried to contest, a customary habit ingrained into his life since birth (Osamu). Because he wasn’t _lonely_ , he had his career, his friends, Bokuto, Hinata, Sa—but then he realized with indignant resignation that, yes they were his friends, but they were his teammates before they were his friends. 

He was lonely in the way that their life continued after volleyball, they had people to go home to; Atsumu’s life pauses when he goes home, only resuming at dawn, when he wakes up to go on his morning run, and he returns to volleyball. He has always been cognizant of his volleyball obsession, he has however, never perceived it to be a problem. But as his arsenal strengthens; his muscles grow stronger—he knows that the amount of things that he can improve on grows scarce, he knows there are only limited steps to take until he reaches the pinnacle. 

And that was the dilemma—because how can his life resume when volleyball ends? There will be more than a decade to come, because Atsumu has been dedicating everything to maintaining his health and prolonging his volleyball. Even so, young and determined players will come and vie for his position, and Atsumu will have to be minimally bitter when he accepts his retirement. 

For his life to continue after volleyball ends, he wants to have someone, post retirement. He needs to have someone that he could play volleyball with. His mom has been procuring candidates for him, and he’s thankful for her efforts. The common defect that they introduce to Atsumu, as though it was something to be proud of—was that they don’t play volleyball, or that they’re not good at playing volleyball. The people that he has met weren’t completely irredeemable; there were nice girls and presentable salary men. 

They were just never that memorable—decent looking; they had eyes, nose and lips, but nothing to remember them by, even if in the rare case he wanted to. He found himself disturbed by how average they were—always the same muted brown hair, the same face rearranged, they never had identifiers that can help Atsumu distinguish them, like beauty marks or moles. 

He doesn't mind the same praises they always present to him recycled, _Miya-san I enjoy watching you play_ , but what’s the point of that if they’re not good enough to play volleyball with him? 

Osamu had suggested that he should find someone from the league, and that was perfectly plausible, if not for the fact that Atsumu could count all the bachelors in their division with two hands, and all the age appropriate bachelors with one hand.

The lucky five includes Hoshiumi, Goshikii, Kiryuu, Komori and Sakusa. Between a seagull, a purple mushroom, a moai, a mouse and a mysophobe, Atsumu thinks he doesn’t need to defend his preference of Sakusa as the most desirable candidate. 

Regardless of eccentricities and touch aversion, Sakusa was conventionally attractive enough that Atsumu can begrudgingly admit that he has been more attuned than your average teammate to Sakusa’s unfairly well proportioned body, and chiseled face over their years of volleyball together.

Atsumu has always been enclosed in his shameless shell in highschool, but he hasn’t been able to condition himself to stop blushing when he thinks of Sakusa’s consistency on the court. It was just so hot— _in a completely non-sexual manner_. Sakusa’s efforts and dedication to volleyball, made his blind dates so conspicuously apathetic, in their lack of devotion to their passion, and resignation to their fate of mediocrity. 

The years have mellowed out their begrudging partnership to a reluctant friendship, which has given Sakusa too many allowances in unknowingly invading Atsumu’s periphery. Atsumu could see this dangerous quasi fascination with Sakusa morph into affection—it also helped that Atsumu was embarrassingly fond of Sakusa’s face, and he had the only face amongst the five that Atsumu would want to look at for reasons beyond entertainment. 

The only saving grace that rescued him from a premature confession was that most of the first string players began to move out of the Jackals’ dormitory. That included Sakusa and Atsumu, who moved out, not because of a desire to cohabit with their non-existent partners, like everyone else had, but merely their fame and consequently endorsement deals have multiplied to the extent that they could frivolously spend their money. 

Being friends with Sakusa was a development, but broaching the subject of dating Sakusa is a predicament. It was one that he could find no answer to, except life’s usual answer to the most insane and annoying questions.

And that was fake dating, Atsumu didn’t even need to grovel at Sakusa’s reputable scentless feet for it, all it took was a deranged fan (stalker).

♡

It started as a callous mistake when Atsumu returned to his apartment after training finding a stack of tilting mail. He had decided to leave the floor naked without a welcome mat after his move, because he was too old (twenty five; a decade since he began high school), and too well established in his career to pretend to be nice towards his fans anymore. After one too many obsessive girl and scrawny guy decided it was romantic to wait for him at his doorstep, perched atop of the mat, making it worn and yellow, he decided it was time to rescind his welcome. 

He sighed at the thought of having to slice open that many envelopes. Fans really are growing more cunning—they ingeniously conceal their letters in white inconspicuous envelopes, disguising them as pseudo important looking documents so that Atsumu wouldn’t just shove them down the recycling bin. 

He picked up the letters in exasperation, and toed off his shoes as he walked past the kitchen and the couch, to his balcony sat at the very edge of his flat. Atsumu asks himself every time why he ignorantly chose to live in the penthouse when he was weary of heights, (not scared). He is reminded of why when his eyes snagged on the [ billboard ](https://twitter.com/evilspawn/status/1281609028368392192) of the adjacent building, it was the most expensive billboard in Osaka, and Atsumu was on it. Only the companies with enough capital can afford it for months, if not weeks—before being replaced by a more promising or innovative product, heralded by a hotter star.

Atsumu has been on the board for a year, and he’s been waking up to himself, and falling asleep to his own face and naked chest for six months. Since Kageyama’s departure to a foreign league, Atsumu replaced him as the professional athlete with the most endorsements and billboards in Japan—he has to consistently reminds himself not to feel too resentful about that. Right now, he’s unparalleled, but people are fickle. Which is why he decided to move into this ivory tower while people were still concerned about his every move like thirsting vultures after their third, consecutive league win.

Fame was like that, even though Atsumu never concerned himself with fans during highschool, as a professional athlete, you’re forced to grapple with aspects of the encroaching entertainment industry. Just because he didn’t end up with red hair, dancing like a robot on a stage, doesn’t mean that he wasn’t shackled by the power of fans, they could easily strip him of his endorsements, or causally boycott him. 

Growing into his seventh year in the league, he’s proud that he’s finally managed to restrain himself from sneering at fans during matches, unlike Sakusa who is inconsistent with his signature irritated face, and sometimes disguised annoyance for public interactions. 

Atsumu sliced open the envelopes, not bothering to take letters out. His eyes are accustomed to peeking in and spotting the cursive writing, pink hearts and the ones addressed to _atsumun_ ♡ for their special treatment with the lighter and ashtray sat perpetually prepared on the tea table.

He sifted through the rest of the letters, pausing at a peculiar one with lines of colorful blocks organized neatly within the rectangular frame of the paper. He plucked that letter out to burn as well, slightly miffed at being sent such an eccentric advertisement for seeing an optometrist—he is a professional volleyball player, with perfect vision and definitely not colorblind.

♥︎

Atsumu only understood that it was indeed, not an advertisement to see an optometrist on Monday, when he was interrupted midway through practice, by a request to visit the office of their management team. His teammates give him curious glances, Bokuto and Hinata with their mouths in a perfect oval, looking ridiculously scandalized, and Sakusa seems rightfully smug with a small smirk as if Atsumu was going to get fired. 

Atsumu ignores them with an eye roll as he trudges behind Ayuzawa-san to the building adjacent to their private gymnasium. She vaguely introduces herself as someone from senior management, within their public relations department. Atsumu feels simultaneously reassured and pleased that Sakusa was wrong and he was not getting sacked,—even though he knew that it was an impossibility with how well the Jackals were dominating the league right now. The reserve setters were good, but not good enough to lead them to victory, because if they were, they would have replaced Atsumu by now. 

They arrive at a glassed office, after winding through a maze of cubicles. Ayuzawa-san flicks a switch by the wall with her manicured black claw as they enter, shrouding the room in immediate darkness, with tinted glass panels drowning out the afternoon sun. 

Atsumu feels thoroughly entertained at the mysterious nature of this meeting, wondering if it was an elaborate scheme to make him feel complacent, only to have someone jump scare him from under the table, for the sake of publicity and youtube views. He dismisses the thought, popularity is not exactly scarce at the moment, and their internal personnel knows better than to disrupt training for something so trivial. 

Instead, he tries to scour his brain for any recent fan incidents, growing more restless as he could not remember the last time he branded anyone an animal or ugly. 

“Uhm, I haven’t called anyone a pig since the last time I was here.” 

Ayuzawa-san’s lips twitches, “Miya-san, you’re not here today because you called anyone a pig, or any other derogatory animals. I can assure you that the nature of today’s meeting is far less humorous than you might have presumed.” 

Atsumu nods, sinking back into his chair. He feels relieved, knowing that nothing could be worse than having to play nice, and stick a permanent smile on his face so that people would forget about his actual personality. 

Her face twists into a comical frown, severe wrinkles telling him that this was not something to be trifled with, “I called you here today, for a security matter. This is not a mere threat to your personal popularity, or the team’s reputation, but a matter of your personal safety. So, it will be in your favour to comply with any solutions or actions that we propose.” 

Atsumu opens his mouth in indignation and confusion, when the door opens after a curt knock. A girl enters, looking deceptively friendly with her youthful temperament. She transfers the bouquet she was holding with a loose to Ayuzawa-san carefully, and any dregs of warmth on her face bleeds out when her gaze lands on Atsumu. 

They scrutinse Atsumu as though he was the sudden dark cloud that ruined their beach day planned in mind with a sunny forecast. Atsumu tampers down the annoyance beginning to slink out, and clasps his hands together. 

“Miya-san, are you aware that you’re being pursued by a fan right now?” 

Atsumu raises his eyebrows, wondering why they thought that petty fan crushes warranted interrupting practice time. “I’m sure that even the least popular players on our team are bein’ pursued.” 

Ayuzawa-san directs her deadpan stare at Atsumu, and the lackey girl rolls her eyes unimpressed. “Perhaps, you misunderstood me, but you’re being stalked by a rabid fan.” She gestured at the bouquet that she was holding, waiting for Atsumu’s realization. At his silence, she sighs and drops the bouquet onto the conference table. 

Atsumu pokes at the white roses, then quickly retracts his fingers when he saw red trickling down the roses and leaking onto the table in an unflattering puddle.

He scrunches his nose in distaste as the roses, and looks at them in expectation, “Someone gave me roses, with red paint? Why didn’t they just buy red roses?” 

“It’s not paint, it’s blood.” 

Atsumu cringes, glaring at the red staining his index finger. He is going to need to sanitize his fingers thoroughly with bleach, before he can even think of setting a ball to Sakusa. He can imagine an immoral devil spontaneously appearing on his shoulder _what omi doesn’t know won’t hurt him_. Atsumu disagrees because he wasn’t going to ruin Sakusa’s tentative trust of letting him celebrate well placed spikes by patting his clothed back like this. 

He decides that he is not scared, but he feels unexpectedly sympathetic at how pathetic people were sometimes. His lips quirk in the shadow of a sarcastic smile, he wondered if fans knew that the use of threats and fear were not the most efficient way to earn his favour. 

Atsumu is simple, though he may appear to have more substance as opposed to the extreme end of volleyball simpletons, he is still unpretentious in how he only asks for someone who is attractive, and plays volleyball as good as him. 

Atsumu hums contemplatively, and purses his lips together, “Okay so?” 

“It’s not just the roses, this person claims to have been sending letters to your house, but resorted to getting your attention through management, because you have not given them the reaction they wanted. I am presuming that you’ve either never seen them, or discarded them recklessly without bringing it to our attention. This person is a repeat offender, if you still do not understand the severity of this situation, perhaps you should read some of the things he has written about you.” 

“We are proposing to take internal action, as bringing it to police attention would be futile. We have nothing to substantiate the identity of your stalker, no record of phone calls, text messages or cctv footage to trace. We plan on observing them at your next fansign, presuming that they will show up, given their vexation with your lack of response. While it might be risky, we are confident in our security personnel at the event, and the perpetrator would not be so daring as to expose himself in a public setting.”

Atsumu nods detachedly, not quiet feeling grounded even with both feet planted on the ground. He could already imagine Osamu’s sardonic amazement because _If you didn’t reject that many people, maybe you’d have a partner now to dissuade rabid fans from fantasizing about you_. 

“I didn’t know that we were goin’ to have a fan sign?” Atsumu asks, slightly displeased at the idea of another fansign, not long enough since their last one. 

“You can thank Sakusa-san for that, this was designed to remedy his PR disaster. Please learn from him and don’t get caught recycling your fan’s flowers for you, especially if their price tag is more expensive than ten thousand yen.” 

Atsumu muffles his laugher with his shoulder, thoughts of the bloody roses evaporates. The effort Sakusa must have went through just to kick the bin open, and primly dump flowers in with surgical gloves to protect his hands, only to be slapped in the face by karma makes him giggle. Atsumu’s apprehension of having to smile at fans fade, when he remembers how he can bask in absolute pleasure watching Sakusa grimace at fans, in an attempt to fake smile. 

Maybe Atsumu can protect him when they lean too close under the guise of taking pictures with him.

♡

The day of Sakusa’s redemption fansign coincides with Halloween. Atsumu thought it was impossible to derive even more gratification from this day, but he was wrong. Because HR apparently decided that there was no better way to show sincerity, than have the Jackals in costume, displaying their heartfelt gratitude for the love and support of their fans. 

Atsumus glances at the crowd of fans for the first time since they’ve begun, they are still orderly queuing in snake formation, ready to receive every players’ signature, and talk to their favorites. Atsumu has been spending the past two hours, shaking the hands of their fans while looking at Sakusa. He is somewhat surprised that no one has berated him yet, but he doubts that the fans will condemn him for being preoccupied when Sakusa is a justifiable sight to behold. 

They are sitting at a long table, with Sakusa at the center and Atsumu as his side. Atsumu has to applaud Sakusa’s resoluteness at personifying a beanpole, and his attempts at shrinking into a flat iron board just to avoid contact with the company procured costume that he is wearing. 

Atsumu smiles at how Sakusa still manages to exude utter disgust for his costume two hours in. “Why the frown, Saku-san, you make a good Sasuke!” 

Sasuke-Sakusa turns to him murderously, squinting his eyes angrily, “This is all your fault.” 

“Don’t be like that, Sasuke, not when you’re sittin’ next to your best friend and partner Naruto.” 

Sakusa flicks his gaze to the headband on Atsumu and scowls, “When HR was crowdsourcing us for costume ideas, you didn’t need to suggest me to dress up as Sasuke. And as if that wasn’t cringe enough, you volunteered to be Naruto too.” 

“Why not omi-omi, or would you prefer me callin’ ya, Sasuke-kun? I have blond hair, and you have black hair, don’t we make the perfect pair?” Atsumu barely suppresses a grin. 

He knows that Sakusa would not actually be angry over something as inconsequential as this, but his heart still bounces when he sees Sakusa’s scowl fade away, to sarcastic amusement. “Oh, so you only address me politely when I’m Sasuke-kun, but you’ll go back to your omi-omis’ after this?” He glares up at his own headband, with his eyes slightly crosses—Atsumu fumes silently, because that really should not look as endearing as it does. 

“What even made you choose them. You’re in orange and black. You might as well have went for Garfield,” Sakusa looks at his exposed chest in dismay, “and I’m in a gaping kimono which is exposing me to an unfathomable amount of bacteria.” He adds. 

Atsumu’s eyes slip down to Sakusa’s exposed chest, and the edges of his pale pectoral muscles. He diverts his gaze at the fan in front of him before his body betrays him and starts blushing. He smiles at the fan as he present gifts to him, hoping that he succeeded in conveying gratitude instead of indifference. He finds it slightly bizarre whenever fans waste hours queuing to see their ‘idols’, only to conceal their face with a mask and baseball cap, pretending like they don’t want to be remembered. 

Atsumu turns back to Sakusa, “Hey! We’re from the great village of Konoha, have some pride in our culture, would’ya Sasuke-kun? I know you deserted and all, but we’re still the best shinobi of our generation.” 

Sakusa wrinkles his nose at Atsumu and snorts, “Nerd.” 

Atsumu squawks indignantly, because he’s not the nerd who couldn’t sleep until his three thousand-piece puzzle was finished. He’s about to rebut when he realizes that the hall has emptied, and the queue of fans has dwindled to nothing. 

“Miya-san, we need to talk.” 

Atsumu groans at once, realizing the familiar baritone voice. He turns away from Sakusa, to face the strong presence behind him. Atsumu tries for a grin, “Oh no, the talk? Ayuzawa-san, are ya breakin’ up with me?” 

Ayuzawa-san’s eyes tighten almost too perceptibly, “Miya, do you not recall the severity of this matter that we’re talking about? I’m afraid that the situation has escalated beyond our expectation, and this demands immediate attention. I have already alerted your captain, please come with me as we discuss potential counter measures.” 

Atsumu decides against protesting when he sees the threatening glint in her eyes, he peeps briefly at Sakusa in goodbye before she sweeps him away from the hall. 

He absentmindedly walks, looking at the ceiling while following the clicks of her resounding heels on the marble floor. They enter a small conference room backstage, and he sees Meian-san and the lackey from last time already sitting at the table. He swaggers to the head seat at the round table, but jolts in surprise when he notices the two intense security guards stood in the corner of the room. Their aura is so strong that the atmosphere of the room feels almost stifling, Atsumu is not short by Japanese standards, but he feels small seeing the towering guards with their intercoms and black vests. 

“Miya-san, we don’t have any room for comedy today, please do not distract yourself with jokes, because they will not be funny, once you understand the gravity of this situation. Did you interact with anyone today at the fan meet that was particularly suspicious?” 

Atsumu settles down into the chair, and shakes his head. How could he have deigned to look at fans, when Sakusa sat next to him in a Sasuke ensemble? It would be incomprehensible if he spent hours talking to fans, when Sakusa was so in character, brooding in close proximity. 

Ayuzawa-san directs her gaze at Meian-san, asking him the same question silently. His forehead creases, “I don’t recall anyone particularly suspicious.” 

Ayuzawa-san sighs, and Atsumu can imagine she is probably thinking that she’s not well paid enough to deal with their circus. “Well, we are going to review the security tapes, but I doubt that we would be able to catch their identity this way. Miya-san, I’m guessing you did not look at the gifts that you received, so you might want to take a look right now.” 

She slides a pinstriped gift bag to Atsumu across the glass table. He grabs it and peers into the bag, tentatively sifting through the paper tissue to search for the object inside. 

He feels the surface of glass, and retrieves it, recognizing that it is the back of a photo frame. He briefly wonders if someone used red paint to draw knives over his face, which should be too cliché to warrant his apprehension. 

Ayuzawa-san gestures for him to flip it over, and Atsumu isn’t entirely sure what he is more shocked about—the photo, or the gasp that he unwittingly let out. He glances up from the photo at Meian-san’s concerned face, and Ayuzawa’s grim frown. 

He traces the picture of his mom and Osamu in disbelief, “Is this—? No it can’t be right? But I’ve never posted this picture either.” 

“They broke into your house, and took this photo as proof—they included a piece of paper that outlines your exact schedule, and how they trespassed when you were at training.” Ayuzawa-san states, and she looks as apologetic as she can be with heavy-duty eyeliner and mascara, “I’m sorry, this is negligence on our part, we should not have underestimated the stalker, and their resentment at your lack of response. They have declared this is as yet another resort at gaining your attention, after the first thirty letters of threat failed.” 

“Thirty!?” Meian-san exclaims, his eyes enlarged in bewilderment, “how could you not have noticed thirty letters Atsumu?” 

Atsumu shrugs, looking at his mother’s kind eyes staring back at him from the picture. Nauseated at fact that if they broke into the most expensive condominium in Osaka, what’s stopping them from easily slipping into his childhood home at Hyogo, where his mom lives. 

Ayuzawa-san continues, “Miya-san, at this point, we will try to report this to the police, but I’m sure you know that might be futile.” 

“Yeah, I get it, they don’t even take female victims seriously, they’ll think I can protect myself. Which I guess I probably can, these internet people are just scrawny losers who can’t get any in real life, right?” He laughs, hoping it will convey the confidence that he’s not feeling now. 

“Perhaps, but the fact stands is that, someone broke into your apartment, unnoticed—where you live alone. The main problem is that, we cannot ascertain the identity of this person, so even if the police decides to get involved, we will be unable to obtain a restraining order, or to instantly halt their actions. This is dangerous enough, that we would advise you to move out as soon as today. We cannot force you, but I would just like to remind you of the potential repercussions of your actions. If you get injured, in any way—it will not only affect yourself and your career, but your teammates, especially with the season just underway.” 

Atsumu’s throat seizes, because she wasn’t wrong, this could affect volleyball, “but where would I move to? Back ta Hyogo with my brother? I guess that’s not completely unfeasible.” 

“That would be unwise, you will be frequently commuting late at night, when there’s the least people, and that might leave you vulnerable to your stalker as well. We would have suggested the dormitories, but with the old infrastructure of the building, and the lack of the security guard, you might as well stay in your apartment right now.” 

Meian-san suddenly claps his hand, looking as though an epiphany has struck, “How about he moves in with a teammate? Then he wouldn’t be alone, and even if the stalker does break in it’ll be more advantageous to have another person to support Atsumu.” 

Ayuzawa-san hums contemplatively, and nods, accepting the logic in their captain’s suggestion. “Okay, now that the problem of your residence has been dealt with. We have another problem, even though you will be living with someone, we need to dissuade them from approaching you. We know that as far as stalking goes, your case is common in how their obsession stems from their infatuation with you. Perhaps, they have deluded themselves into thinking that they can hound after you just because you are single, and consequently available in their eyes.” 

Meian-san quirks his eyebrows, “so what if, we get Atsumu a boyfriend or a girlfriend, or whatever?” 

“Are ya suggestin’ I find a random chump and date him, what if he gets killed by the stalker? And then I get stabbed sixty times in the chest.” Atsumu splutters. 

Ayuzawa-san ignoring Atsumu’s spiel about his impending doom, continues “but given how Miya-san has decided to broadcast his ideal type in every interview he has had, it will be difficult to find a candidate who can act as a convincing partner. It will have to be someone willing to subject themself to danger, and is able meet to Miya-san’s criteria.”

Atsumu sighs, once again thinking how smug Osamu would be that his pickiness landed him in shit so deep, he can’t dig his way out like he would dig for a receive. The world just isn’t fair, he was the one who needed an equally capable volleyball boyfriend to save him, yet Osamu was the one with a volleyball boyfriend when he doesn't even play anymore. 

Meian-san snapped his fingers, “What about, a teammate?” 

“I wasn’t aware that was an option. I was under the presumption that most of the team is preoccupied—”

“Yes, but there’s also Sakusa,” Meian-san declares, looking proud of himself for being capable of solving captain issues. Atsumu pauses, closes his eyes, and blinks again. He resists the urge to jam cotton swabs into his ear to check if his hearing was functional. In the midst of slapping himself on the face, and clearing his ears, he only realizes that he was left alone in the room, when the door swings opens to reveal Meian-san and Ayuzawa-san reentering with Sakusa in tow. 

Atsumu gasps in muted horror, they were going to proposition Sakusa to be his fake boyfriend—and although he has previously mulled over the possibility of dating Sakusa, the reality of it happening, albeit in a different context, is more daunting than the prospect of having his arms ripped off by one of Ushiwaka’s spikes. 

“I’m surprised that you’re not getting fired. But I don’t think that this is any better.” Sakusa mutters as he sits down, anchoring the swiveling chair next to Atsumu. 

“So, why am I here?” 

Atsumu registers that they probably filled Sakusa in on his situation on their way over, but neglected to tell him about the proposed solution—that Sakusa is the solution. Atsumu wants to muffle his ears with a volleyball on each side, he can imagine the painful embarrassment that will accompany this conversation, _yes Atsumu is being stalked, he needs someone to live with. That will be you. He also needs someone to fake-date. Also you. Jackpot Sakusa, you won the lottery today._

Meian-san begins with a sigh, “Sakusa, there is no easy way to say this, so I will just say this. We would appreciate your assistance in this matter greatly. You see, Atsumu needs to move in with a teammate because his flat has been compromised. You are the most logical option, because you live alone and your house is otherwise unoccupied. Which I know, is already a lot to ask for, you might not be comfortable suddenly living with someone. But this is the only thing we can do at this point, move Atsumu away from breached his premises, and to deter the stalker from trying again.” 

Sakusa nods mechanically in understanding. Atsumu was at least expecting five rejections, but Sakusa seems satisfied with nodding and glowering at Meian-san. 

Meian-san continues, seemingly encouraged by Sakusa’s reluctance acceptance, “The other tiny problem, where we hope you can extend your help to is—well, to be honest, Atsumu’s singleness at the moment is a vulnerability, we believe its what makes the stalker feels enabled and entitled towards him,” he pauses, gauging any changes in Sakusa’s expression. 

“So, it would be great if you can, you know, uh—act as Atsumu’sboyfriendforthetimebeing.” 

At this, Sakusa whips his head at Atsumu and back to their captain. “What. Are. You. Saying.” He raises his eyebrows expectantly, daring Meian-san to repeat his ludicrous proposal. 

Meian-san backtracks, carefully treading Sakusa in order to prevent this from escalating into a belligerent meeting. “Okay, I’m not exactly asking you two to fake date, just project—like a romantic illusion?”

“That IS fake dating.” Sakusa deadpans in extreme pillar fashion. 

The most uncharacteristic emotion of guilt begins to worm its way through Atsumu’s veins, he knows that Sakusa already felt uncomfortable at the idea of cohabiting with him, and yet he accepted it with minimal disgust. He couldn't help but feel relieved that, Sakusa doesn’t actually hate him—even though they’ve developed a shy friendship, he wasn’t aware whether Sakusa actually appreciated it, or just found it a nuisance to his orderly life. 

“Fine, then fake date please. That is all I ask of you two until the end of season, or until we identify the stalker.” 

“No, that’s not even a possibility.”

Ayuzawa-san interjects, probably deciding that the captain has been wasting too much time being cordial, “Sakusa-san, please understand that you’re our only—you’re the perfect candidate for this, you two won’t even have to engage in anything too affectionate in public, because fans know about your touch aversion.” 

Given Atsumu’s atypical silence, it should be no surprise that Sakusa turns to him as his next target, “You let this situation escalate. How could you not have noticed the countless letters he sent you before. It’s literally a rainbow.” 

“Its not my fault I get so much mail. What’s even the point of makin’ it that eye catchin’ if I don’t notice it anyways,” Atsumu huffs. “I mean, ya don’t have ta, if yer uncomfortable. But, omiiiiii-kun, don’t be so uptight, my life is on the line here,” he tries his best puppy dog eyes at Sakusa. 

Meian-san tries again, “Sakusa please, we can’t win this league season if someone strangles Miya from unrequited love.”

Sakusa closes his eyes, Atsumu knows he barely managed the urge to roll his eyes at his senior. Everyone in the room waits with anticipation—

Sakusa breathes, “Fine. But Miya, there will be conditions. I expect you to adhere to everything I say. You listen. To me.” 

Atsumu wants to scream in surprise, he couldn’t believe that Sakusa just conceded like that. Perhaps his addiction to victory was so strong, since being pummeled by the Adlers at kurowashiki once, that he would do everything to secure their next league win? 

Atsumu mock salutes Sakusa, “Yes Sir yes! But hey, show some initiative won’tcha omi-kun! I’m not that easy, I need more than a fine to be asked out!”

This time, because its Atsumu, Sakusa doesn’t bother withholding his eye roll and exasperation. “I think my hesitation with letting you get murdered, shows too much initiative already.” Sakusa drones.

Atsumu sniggers, because he supposes that was the most romantic thing Sakusa has ever delivered to him. “Okay, but who’d believe that the two longest standin’ bachelors in the jackals, are suddenly no longer bachelors?” 

“Because you’re old enough that it is believable you’re seeking out a serious relationship,” Meian-san says, unimpressed. 

“Twenty six isn’t old!!!”

“Atsumu, anything past young adult is old.”

Ayuzawa-san interrupts before their bickering can spiral, “Thank you, Sakusa-san. Now that we have met a decision, we would like you to accompany Miya-san to his apartment today to pack some essential items and bring it to your place. Ideally, we would have had more time to coordinate the logistics of how you two fell into a relationship, but I’m afraid, it would be dangerous to delay this any further.”

♥︎

They arrive at Atsumu’s apartment just before dusk, long after they have changed out of their costumes. Atsumu looks at Sakusa’s side profile forlornly, regretting the absence of his Sasuke ensemble already. 

Sakusa scoffs the moment he steps foot into the apartment, pointing at Atsumu’s [ billboard ](https://twitter.com/evilspawn/status/1281609028368392192), “is that why you decided to move into your overpriced apartment?” 

“Hey! Do you know how hard it is ta get that billboard? Besides, don’tcha like my floors? Marble is easier to clean.” 

Sakusa hums, unconvinced, “Right, your expensive flat is so great that random people can walk in and out undetected.” 

Atsumu wants to objects, but registers that Sakusa wouldn’t even be in his apartment if not for the intruder. He is conflicted whether it was a blessing in disguise, because since they’ve moved out from the dormitories, he only sees Sakusa for half the day now, instead of the entire day. With no excuse to ask Sakusa to make an extra portion, because Sakusa was cooking already, and Atsumu was starving in the kitchen. 

“Touché.” Atsumu leaves Sakusa on the balcony, to piles shirts, shorts, jeans and shoes into his suitcase. He leaves his favourite volleyball on the floor of his room, knowing that Sakusa will have more than one at his house anyways. 

He returns to find Sakusa is the same spot, glaring at his billboard. The sun has now fully descended, basking his enlarged face in orange and red hues. He notices the similar warm shadows clinging to the sharp edges of Sakusa’s face, highlighting his cheekbones and rendering him into a dramatic oil painting. 

Sakusa points at the wine glass that billboard-Atsumu is holding in a loose grasp, “Why did you agree to endorse wine? Do you even drink it?” 

“No, course not. I’m Japanese, I don’t like wine,” he scoffs. “You think I’ll betray my culture by forsakin’ my favorite sake just like that?” 

“Then why?” Sakusa asks, expectant.

“Why not? Its not like they chose me because I was a big wine fan. They just needed someone who’ll look good with their sunny day drinking concept.” 

Sakusa clicks his tongue, neither disagreeing nor approving. “That's good. Because if you did like wine, I was going to disappoint you by telling you that it doesn’t exist in my house.”

Atsumu laughs, “Hah! I wasn’t expecting you to anyways. Omi-kun you’re nothing if not enthusiastically Japanese to the bone. Always so consistent and predictable.” 

Sakusa rolls his eyes, turning his back from the winking billboard-Atsumu, and heads towards the door, wordlessly expecting Atsumu to follow. 

Atsumu drags his suitcase, running towards Sakusa, “Wait for me, omi-omi!!” 

Together, they leave the apartment.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm [ @evilspawn ](https://twitter.com/evilspawn)on twitter !  
> [ Atsumu's wine billboard ](https://twitter.com/evilspawn/status/1281609028368392192)
> 
> we'll have to see where using a fan as a plot device takes me with helping sakuatsu get together.  
> please tell me if you liked my ad for atsumu or not, considering drawing one for sakusa!


End file.
